


Exchange

by stardropdream (orphan_account)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem was knowing and being unable to do anything about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ September 24, 2012. 
> 
> I saw a prompt a billion years ago on the kink meme about Charles always being able to hear what people thought when he was with Erik. This doesn't QUITE fit the prompt exactly (and I lost the link ages ago anyway), but I figured I'd give it a try. Still can't write these guys for shit, though. Haha.

  
It starts out as simple exchange of glances. Nothing but innocent. Just a meeting of eyes across the room. It is the after that means the aftermath. A touch. A gesture. Holding a gaze longer than necessary.  
  
Society is unrelenting. Society. As if it is one entity, as if it is not a composite of different thoughts and different values. Society.   
  
Charles knows the thoughts of _society_. For all the things people say – about the non-whites, about the non-males, about the non- _ordinary_ \-- what they _would_ say about the non-human, if they knew –   
  
For all the things people say, there are the things people do not say. The things too dark, too cruel even for the bigot to say aloud. Charles knows, intimately, the darkness of the things left unsaid.  
  
That’s what baffles Erik the most. “That you can still think the best in people despite knowing the things too horrible to even say out loud… Charles, really.”  
  
But Charles only smiles, and he knows his smile is a touch too close to the non-platonic. But he can’t help it – it’s Erik.  
  
“It’s because I can read minds that I know there’s hope,” he says and sees Erik’s brow furrow – he knows he sounds as he always does in these siutations. Calm. Gentle. Condescending. He can’t help that.  
  
They’re in the dusty part of the mid-west, a cheap motel as they scout out the area, searching for the mutants living there – there are three.   
  
The motel room is innocuously plain, unassuming and unremarkable. They’ve brought out the chess board for the sake of passing the evening, intending to search out the young mutants the next morning.  
  
Erik contemplates the board, touching at each wooden piece in a way that’s completely distracting. It’s a spot of dead-zone for him – wooden board and carved pieces, completely without any metal that can sing back to him. He touches at the pieces like a blind man, fingers light and curling. Perhaps it is a comfort.   
  
And then his eyes flicker up and look right into Charles’, and Charles cannot look away.  
  
But he has to. Charles breaks the gaze, clearing his throat in an aggressive politeness he knows people dislike.  
  
Erik moves his bishop.  
  
Charles smiles sand moves his knight to capture it.   
  
“Hope,” Erik says after a moment. “Your blind optimism is almost upsetting.”  
  
“It isn’t blind, I’d say,” Charles returns, voice slow and contemplative. “I have every reason and justification to be optimistic about the future.”  
  
Erik snorts, a dismissive, involuntary noise. Charles doesn’t comment on it, only smiles and leans forward, placing a hand on Erik’s arm. He’s warm beneath his touch, achingly familiar despite the lines Charles has drawn for himself.   
  
“I know you don’t yet share my confidence, my friend,” he says, marveling at the way Erik’s muscles tense and then relax beneath his fingertips. “But you will.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
It’s when they’re out in _society_ that Charles understands the tension, the unrelenting nature.  
  
Erik’s hand touches his back, guiding him or steadying him and he feels the sear of white-hot disgust and fear. He can feel the eyes on them, the thoughts pouring out, of _oh god are those queers?_ and the spark of concern and anger. He knows it in the flare of thoughts, of _queer queer queer!_ , when he leans in too close to Erik, when Erik’s arm drapes over the back of his chair, when their knees touch and hold close.  
  
Charles is always politeness and kindness, but once the thought sprouts in their minds, it is rooted there forever.  
  
He thinks Erik may be starting to notice. He can sense his anger. Charles has never been able to read expressions well - his telepathy has always served as a crutch in that respect, leaving it unnecessary to take those human cues. But with Erik, he finds it almost painfully easy to sense his feelings, without ever having to touch his mind.  
  
“Erik?” he asks.  
  
Erik glances at him, frowning, the tension mounting at the center of his eyebrows.  
  
“They all look at you with such disgust,” Erik says, voice tensed. _Us._ , Charles thinks but doesn’t correct him. “It’s disgusting.”  
  
“Oh, my friend,” Charles says, softly, lifts his hand, reaching for Erik’s cheek before he can even second guess –   
  
_Queer!_  
  
— he drops his hand immediately, as if burnt by that passing thought, flaring out of a passing woman. Her eyes are hot with hatred.  
  
 _I never knew we had those things here,_ her mind hisses in disgust.   
  
“Charles?” Erik asks.  
  
“No… it’s nothing,” Charles says, softly, then smiles at Erik. “I’m quite alright.”   
  
  
\---  
  
  
He’s heard every insult in the book by the time he finally leans in and kisses Erik. He’s smugly pleased when Erik kisses him back – just as he knew he would. Had hoped he would.   
  
His fingertips trace at Erik’s jawline.  
  
A moment of perfect clarity blossoms through his mind and he feels at perfect peace.  
  
When he pulls away, Erik’s face is so open, it’s like a book and it’s almost embarrassing to look at it, but Charles feels the swell of affection in his own chest, knows his expression echoes Erik’s.  
  
“Charles,” Erik says and it sounds deeper than it did a moment ago, thick and unmoving.  
  
“Yes,” Charles answers. “Yes, I know. I know exactly.”  
  
Erik can only give a small nod. Charles smiles at him, carding his fingers through Erik’s hair, pulling him close and holding him close because, at least here, he can have perfect privacy and perfect clarity.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
“Throughout history, human beings have resisted change. The mysterious is upsetting. But we adapt, they all adapt.”  
  
“You sound as if I should have sympathy,” Erik says, bitterness seeping into his voice as he lays a hand down over Charles’ bare hip.   
  
Charles smiles, slipping closer, hand in Erik’s hair. “It’s not their fault – they just need to understand. They will.”  
  
“You’re a fool,” is all Erik says and kisses him.


End file.
